


foolishly, completely

by figure8



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Feelings, M/M, Teenagers, that’s it that’s the plot, there’s no feelings without plot tag but this is what it is, they’re in high school i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 03:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17696792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: This might as well be life or death.





	foolishly, completely

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a one direction song. this is all i have to say.  
> actually i have more to say someone on cc was like len the CURSED selfie from cyzj (you KNOW the one) looks like, and i quote “badboy!minghao somehow (i say somehow, really it was impossible for hao NOT to) falls in love with junnie who dresses like he’s going to church every day” so fifteen minutes later here we go i GUESS

_truly, madly, deeply_

 

If life was a movie or a romance novel Minghao’s kisses would taste like cigarettes and danger, because Minghao wears ripped jeans and black leather and his eyes are always lined with dark eyeliner and he says _fuck_ a lot and Junhui’s parents don’t like him.

But this is real life, and the inside of Minghao’s mouth tastes like strawberry gum. He despises the smell of tobacco and needs his lungs intact for dancing. This is real life, and Junhui’s white button-downs always look impeccable, even when he’s on his knees in public bathrooms. There’s a saying about books and covers and judging, but Junhui can’t remember any of it as Minghao’s grip tightens around his nape, loses the ability to form words or even think them. Minghao’s lips are chapped where he’s always biting them, and ten minutes ago there was blood pearling there, but now Junhui has licked it. When they stop kissing they still stay pressed mouth to mouth, sharing air like they’re shipwrecked, underwater. There’s something about Minghao that turns Junhui into a planet, always orbiting, never too far. If they’re not touching he feels off balance. Two days ago he cleaned Minghao’s bruised knuckles free of glass shards, Minghao sitting silently on the edge of his bathtub. Mouth a thin line, hands careful, alcohol-soaked cotton on ruined skin, no sound. Then, now, always; he thinks the contact points, the spots where his body and Minghao’s body intersect like a Venn diagram, these are anchors, these are scars. The only proof, sometimes, that he’s not making this up.

And this is real life, but it is teenage love so it might as well be a movie—it might as well be life or death because it at least _feels_ like it, tragic in that Junhui does not have the vocabulary to describe it, even after buying a thesaurus. His mother says _you know nothing of love when you are young_ and Junhui thinks maybe, maybe—but he knows hunger, at least, he knows—wanting someone with the sort of dizzying clarity he thought reserved for praying, he knows—

Sometimes when he looks at Minghao all he can think is _I could climb inside his body and it still wouldn’t be close enough_ and that is a terrifying thought to have, probably.

But the kisses taste like bubblegum, and Junhui’s back hits the brick wall, pain flashing through his shoulder blade like an arrow, and there is color high on Minghao’s cheekbones, just like after a good run.

So Junhui closes his eyes and sees high school graduation and a small apartment in the city and at least one cat and—

Minghao laughs, says, _stop,_ says, _don’t look at me like that,_ says—he doesn’t like it when Junhui’s gaze lingers heavy—he _likes it_ a little bit too much, blushes—he doesn’t. In Junhui’s stare there is a shameless promise, the kind people their age don’t make.

But Junhui thinks, maybe, when Minghao takes his picture, captures him laughing and statuesque in black and white; when Minghao presses his lips to the inside of his wrist, simultaneously hesitant and firm; when Minghao slips frozen fingers under Junhui’s shirt; when Minghao absently writes his name in the corner of his notepad in class; when—

Between those lines, too, there is high school graduation, and a small apartment in the city, and at least one cat. And.

  



End file.
